


Swallowing Pride

by Sorsa



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 15:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7850044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorsa/pseuds/Sorsa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Altaïr wakes up in his car hungover with his clothes hanging from the side mirrors frozen stiff. The morning radio tells him how his debts are now bigger than they were the night before and at home is Malik who's going to be pissed at him no matter what he does. The worst morning ever. </p><p>How will the two of them survive when the situation gets out of hand and there's nothing they can do about it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swallowing Pride

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something a bit more topical. Things aren't always up to the people themselves. Sometimes the circumstances just turn out that a person becomes a passenger in his own life. I also wanted to write something established because I love established relationships and all kinds of domestic things :)
> 
> Beta-read by DarthTofu who's the most precious person around :D

Altaïr woke up shivering in an uncomfortable position in the backseat of his car. The temperature must have dipped below zero last night. His breath misted the air as he scrambled to the front seat in only his underwear.

 

Hazy flashbacks from the previous night made it through the horrible headache and smell of old booze. He had been drunk, again. He had gotten wet in the rain. Malik would be so mad at him, again.

 

He managed to start up the car even if the starter whined sadly before actually revving up properly. Malik had told him he should replace the battery. But with what money? They could hardly pay their mortgage after Malik’s accident.

 

He instantly put the heater full on, which was a mistake, as the vents just blew cold air against his already slightly damp and cold skin. He lowered the fan speed and directed the air flow onto the foggy windscreen.

 

The radio was oddly silent so he fiddled with the knobs for a while before realising he had somehow managed to eject the front of the radio off ever so slightly he had not noticed it. He pushed the radio back into its place in the centre console.

 

As soon as he heard the plastic click from the slots fitting against each other the radio came alive blazing some pop, top ten hit Altaïr was really not in the mood for listening to while hungover and miserable. So he almost punched the search button. The radio stopped at some classical music channel which suited him just fine.

 

He started wondering where his clothes were since he couldn’t see any of them inside the car. The classical music was interrupted by the morning news. Altaïr didn’t pay much attention to the news report as he had noticed his clothes hanging from the side mirrors. He rolled the driver’s side window open and grabbed his trousers.

 

The trousers were frozen and stiff. He cringed at the idea of putting the said trousers on but he had no choice since he didn’t have any other clothes with him.

 

The cloth felt rough, cold, and just generally horrible against his skin. It was a pain to pull the trousers on but he managed in the task.

 

As he was going through a similar ordeal with his shirts which were in an equally horrible condition, the monotonous news reporter said something that caught his attention. He stopped in the middle of attempting to pull his second shirt on top of the other and cranked the volume up.

 

The news reporter told that the currency had been devalued last night and the interest rates were now eight percent. He sniffled a bit from the cold.

 

He leaned back on the seat and stared at his socks sticking from the ends of the windscreen wipers and tried to let it all sink in. It was a catastrophe. Definitely the worst morning ever.

 

His mobile phone rang somewhere on the passenger’s side. He reached into the foot space and picked it up. The caller was Malik. He groaned in frustration and dropped the phone on the passenger’s seat in an attempt to ignore it.

 

Then he opened the door and stepped outside. He was not ready to deal with Malik’s mental breakdown just yet.

 

The tarmac was ice cold beneath his feet and he tried in a feeble attempt to warm up by rubbing his arms. The phone was still ringing inside the car. He still refused to pick it up. He plucked his socks from the windscreen wipers and after few seconds spent scrutinising them he threw them inside the car.

 

He found his shoes upside down on top of the front bumper. They were also unsurprisingly frozen. His phone stopped ringing. He counted to ten and sure enough the next thing he heard was the voice of a text message alert. While it took Malik half an hour to tie his shoelaces, the man was still as fast as ever writing biting text messages even one-handed.

 

He put his shoes on and sat behind the wheel. He sighed and picked up the phone in anticipation of something terrible. The car was now slightly warm and he could feel his clothes starting to melt and stick against his skin. He sniffled again.

 

The message read, “ _Why are you not picking up the phone? Have you seen the morning news?_ ” and Altaïr could almost hear the condescending angry voice Malik used whenever he was disappointed at him.

 

“Of course I’ve seen the news!” he growled while furiously typing in a return message. “ _I’m at work_ ,” the message read. Then he threw the phone in frustration to his side where it hit the door and split into pieces he couldn’t be bothered to reassemble.

 

He hit his head against the steering wheel hard enough for it to hurt. He wanted a cigarette so badly but he had quit to appease Malik years ago.

 

The truth was though that it was Friday morning and he had no clients for the day. He barely had clients in any given day these days. Nobody had money to buy the expensive equipment he sold and so the retailers weren’t really interested in them. He knew all this but he had to keep on trying since almost half of his income was dependent on how much he managed to sell.

 

Changing jobs wasn’t an option since there weren’t any jobs to change into. Even without the news of interest rates going up so dramatically they were in neck deep in shit. How much he wished for Malik to be able to find a job even if he knew that in the current situation it was pretty much impossible.

 

The car was now pretty warm and the clothing he was wearing was starting to itch on him. He took a look at the car clock. It would take him three hours to get back home. He wasn’t sure if he really wanted to go back home to hear Malik nagging at him for wasting their money on alcohol or for just ignoring him.

 

********************

 

When he finally got back home he had managed to stall enough that it was already starting to get dark. He was hungry and there were wet imprints from his body on the car seat. The phone lay still in pieces on the passenger’s side but he was sure Malik had been trying to reach him furiously. After few hours of driving he had turned the radio off as he just couldn’t bear to listen to all the doom and gloom that the news were about.

 

He was still standing at the car when the door opened, revealing very agitated Malik. Altaïr braced himself against the inevitable verbal assault that was about to come.

 

“Where have you been?! Why did you keep your phone turned off?!” Malik yelled at him while gesturing angrily with his only arm.

 

“I’ve been at work,” he defended himself.

 

Malik stopped in front of him with a look of clear disbelief before the expression changed into that of anger.

 

“That’s bullshit! I can smell alcohol on you miles away!” Malik snarled and poked Altaïr’s chest.

 

“Are we really going to have this discussion here?!” he snapped and waved around himself at the quiet street of their suburban neighbourhood. He wasn’t about to reveal their problems to the entire community. He didn’t want the gossip-mongers to get any fodder from their current situation.

 

“Yes we are! This needs to be cleared right now!” Malik retorted and somewhere deep in his mind Altaïr already knew Malik didn’t care about the time nor the place of his explosions. In the beginning he had been attracted to the fiery temperament Malik had but at the time he had not known what it would be to be on the receiving end of it.

 

“No, we are not having this discussion here!” he snapped back and grabbed Malik’s arm.

 

Right now he just didn’t care enough and manhandled the struggling Malik inside. It was surprisingly easy thing to do considering that in the past Malik was almost his equal in parkour and was built like a steel feather full of speed and strength. Now all he had to do was tighten his hold a little bit and his partner’s struggles felt as mere feeble attempts against him.

 

“Let me go, you brutish idiot!” Malik raged while managing to free himself.

 

Altaïr closed the door with enough force to make a box fall from the shelf and shatter its contents all over the floor. All kinds of knick-knacks and several pairs of mittens decorated the light laminate floor. Altaïr could practically see the vein popping in Malik’s head.

 

“I can’t believe you managed to waste more money on alcohol at a time like this?! We don’t have money for anything. Do you ever think through these things at all?!” Malik shouted.

 

“You have no room to criticise me! I’m the only one in this household who earns any money or need I remind you of that?! The least you could do is to cook for me while I’m at work slaving away to support us both!” he retorted.

 

“You know it’s not that easy! And what am I now – your housewife?!” Malik replied clearly hurt.

 

“Yes for all I know that’s exactly what you are right now!” he argued back but regretted his words as he looked the expression of hurt pass through Malik’s face and turn into something much darker.

 

The silence that ensued was hundred times worse than their shouting match.

 

“Malik, I didn’t mean it like that,” he tried pleading but Malik just gave him murderous glare and turned around.

 

“Yes you did. You meant it exactly like that. Thank you for letting me now how little you think of me,” Malik said venomously over his shoulder while stomping away towards the back door.

 

Altaïr ran ahead and stopped between the door and Malik.

 

“I really didn’t mean it like that!” he attempted and reached for Malik who evaded his hands. And he really had not meant it like that but he was stressed out, tired, and hungry which made him say the worst things ever.

 

“Move,” Malik replied and Altaïr complied looking helplessly as his partner walked out of the door.

 

Malik slammed the door behind himself making Altaïr fear the large window on the door might break from the force.

 

“Fine! Just go! I don’t care!” he growled at the door and the ever distancing form of Malik. He turned around and kicked the nearest piece of furniture in anger. Then he picked up one of Malik’s favourite books from the bookshelf and threw it as far and as forcefully as he could. It hit a picture frame which dropped on the floor and broke down.

 

He then crashed on the couch, removed his shoes, and threw them in the general direction of the front door. He turned on the big flat screen TV which now served as a reminder of better times long since past. He skipped through all the channels in quick succession but didn’t find anything satisfying to look at.

 

He left the remote on the arm of the couch because he knew it annoyed Malik to no end and got up. He decided he needed to change clothes and promptly undressed while on his way to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes in his wake. He hung his underwear on the doorknob as petty revenge.

 

As he went through the closet he felt like all he kept finding were endless amounts of Malik’s clothes. Nobody needed so many slipovers and just out of spite he threw a few of them to the floor.

 

Suitably clothed he wandered to the kitchen for food. He went through the cupboards but all he could find were some noodles, oatmeal, apple juice, and baking stuff he didn’t know what to do with. He could remember Malik baking a lot lately even if it was a bit of a struggle one handed.

 

He sat down with his noodles and a glass of apple juice. They had a full set of chairs even if they had very rarely visitors these days. Altaïr could still remember a time when Kadar would sit at the table eating all their food and demanding all Malik’s attention, and he being irritated at the brat for making Malik make stupid excuses for his brother.

 

But that was then when everyone around them kept assuring the good times would go on forever. Then the financial bubble burst which took the house values with it and Malik’s accident happened soon afterwards. The real estate agent had estimated the value of their house being less than the debt they had so they were stuck with it or they would go bankrupt.

 

The noodles tasted bland without anything to go with them so he tried to wash away the taste of nothing with the juice. The last time he had had such a terrible diet was when he was in college. Back then he had just met Malik by accident when they both happened to be parkouring at the same time at the same place.

 

When was the last time he had gone out to do parkour? It felt like his days were filled with exhausting business meetings, stress for finances, stress for Malik’s well being, and alcohol to drown all that out.

 

Malik didn’t like his drinking habits. In fact Malik didn’t drink himself at all which he assumed was a remnant from his Muslim family, even if Malik had abandoned most of the other things. But it wasn’t like Altaïr was an alcoholic; it was simply his only outlet these days to momentarily forget his daily worries.

 

It was already dark outside. The days were almost at their shortest which served only to make things feel even bleaker than they already were. The worst part though as Altaïr got up from the table and put his plate to the sink was that Malik had not yet come back.

 

The anger he had felt earlier had been dulled and was steadily being replaced by worry. A thought that Malik might have left him for good crossed his mind but he deemed it an unacceptable option. Then he got afraid that maybe Malik would have a panic attack while out because there was a very good reason why Malik did regular therapy. That too strained their budget.

 

He looked outside from the window at the street behind it. It felt like nobody was outside that the world had stopped in its tracks. He knew many of his neighbours had been fired from their jobs and were in a situation very similar to theirs.

 

He wanted to go outside to look for Malik but his pride prevented him from doing so. He wouldn’t be the one to beg the other to come back because that meant he had lost the argument. He had said things he didn’t mean and Malik should know that.

 

He went back to the living room and stared at the TV without actually paying attention to what was going on on-screen. The news report did make him pay attention though.

 

The prime minister had answered people’s pleas by telling them to eat herrings.

 

Altaïr felt like boiling and switched the channel. A nature documentary about bald eagles told of their mating habits Altaïr couldn’t care less but it was better than listening to politicians making mess of ordinary people’s lives while feasting on their tax-paid money.

 

A good half an hour went by with the over enthusiastic narrator with a British accent telling him everything he ever didn’t want to know about bald eagles. Then the back door opened and Altaïr hoped to every god that it was Malik and not a burglar.

 

It was Malik, who looked a bit dishevelled but unharmed. He sprung up and pulled Malik into a tight embrace which was returned in kind. He felt through his partner just in case and was relieved when everything was just as it was supposed to be.

 

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking right when I said all those things,” he apologised.

 

Malik shook his head and said, “It’s alright. I know you didn’t mean it but I feel so useless all the time and it just hurts me when someone points that out.”

 

He took Malik’s hand in his own and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

 

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll make it through somehow,” he tried his best to comfort but Malik tore his hand away and looked at him with renewed anger.

 

“No we won’t, Altaïr. I’ve run the calculations in my head over and over again. The only conclusion I’ve reached is that I need to either find a job which in the current situation in this country is impossible or quit my therapy,” Malik said in a tone that suggested all he had done when he had been out was think about the worst outcomes.

 

“No! There has to be something else! This situation can’t last forever and when things finally settle back to its course I want you to be in top condition for the job market. I don’t want you to even consider that an option,” he argued.

 

There was no way he would let Malik quit therapy as it would be a sign of Altaïr’s weakness. He wasn’t weak. He could figure out something.

 

“What else is there?!” Malik gasped in desperation and gestured wildly with his hand.

 

Altaïr took a second look at his partner. Why was Malik wearing a pullover two sizes too big?

 

“We’ll figure out something. Things have a way of sorting themselves out,” he answered while being fixated on the loose garment his partner wore.

 

“Like they did on that day in the bank?” Malik answered suddenly.

 

Altaïr froze. Malik was talking about the accident.

 

It had been a businessman whose investments had went badly as the stocks plummeted along with the economy of the country. They called it “an extended suicide” in the news.

 

The reality was that Malik had taken Kadar to the bank to open an account and were just about to leave when a delusional crazy person had barged in. Then he had opened fire on mowing rows of unarmed, unaffiliated people down.

 

“It rained that day and I was stuck in traffic. There was nothing either of us could have done to change the outcome,” Altaïr said after a moment of silence.

 

He was supposed to pick up the two brothers from the bank that day but he was late and Malik and Kadar had decided to stay until he arrived. In the end he had arrived to the scene of policemen and ambulances surrounding the building without further knowledge of what was going on.

 

“I know that. It’s just that ever since I’ve never been able to think about anything but the worst outcome. I feel like some higher force is out there to punish me for wanting any amount of happiness,” Malik said with a strained voice.

 

Depression, anxiety, panic attacks, and just general stress from Malik’s part had put a strain on their relationship. Altaïr would have been lying if he didn’t admit there were times when he was about ready to give up, and times when he just wanted to tell Malik to stop whining.

 

“Which is why you quitting the therapy isn’t an option,” he said sternly.

 

Malik looked ready to protest but before he could get to it Altaïr interrupted,

 

“Come here. Just for this evening let’s not think about all this,” he said while pulling Malik for another hug and then making their way to the coach.

 

When he managed to get them both seated down and somewhat relaxed he found his fingers itching for a glass of whiskey or a cold apple cider. He avoided watching any news and whenever news was about to start he promptly switched the channel. They watched some soaps where the most pressing matter the characters had was something along the lines of not being sure if their crush liked them back or whether or not their parents approved. Altaïr was pretty sure they both hated the programme with every fibre of their being.

 

At some point after watching several horrible reality shows, including one where the entire plot consisted of following truck drivers driving on an ice road which made them both groan audibly in frustration every five minutes, Malik felt like pudding on his arms. Altaïr was sure his partner had fallen asleep which made him relieved because it would mean no more arguments for that evening.

 

He still itched for a drink when a reality show about some celebrity family started. He zoned out immediately after five minutes of the show into his own thoughts.

 

He still remembered the times when they would have gone out to clubbing or parkouring on a Friday night like this one. There had been excitement and adrenaline in the air which would have lead them eventually to fucking wildly in whatever place they happened to be at the time. Malik always felt like a loaded spring full of firm muscles and with a slightly dangerous edge which contradicted the seemingly nerdy engineer’s getup he wore on a daily basis.

 

Now all they had were exceeding amount of insecurities, all kinds of obligations, and domestic chores. Malik was no longer the athlete he had been and even less so after the incident. Altaïr had not had time nor the energy to exercise either being too busy trying to support them. Sometimes he wondered to what end he was doing all this.

 

Malik stirred when a woman with fake boobs and too much botox on her lips screamed on TV and he looked utterly confused as to what was going on. Altaïr could feel Malik stiffen against him.

 

“We could borrow money from my father,” Malik suddenly croaked with a sleep addled voice.

 

“Absolutely not,” he replied on instinct. He would do anything but go begging on that fucker’s doorstep. He hated Malik’s father and was pretty sure Faheem Al-Sayf hated him as well. He would definitely not lower himself to that level as to give that bigoted piece of shit any leverage over him. He did still have his pride.

 

But apparently Malik did not because he said, “You don’t have to come. Just drive me there and wait in the car if you want.”

 

Malik looked determined and Altaïr knew there was no turning his head when he had decided on something. He was tired of arguing and as much as it stung he found himself agreeing though he had no intention of letting Malik go there alone.

 

*********************

 

Altaïr woke up alone and to the smell of freshly baked bread. He liked cuddling in the morning but Malik always woke up before him. It used to be Malik going to work for his morning shift which started at either six or seven but now it was because of badly slept nights.

 

He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to get rid off the remnants of sleep. Then he threw the blanket aside with one swift movement and felt the instant sting of slightly cooler air against his skin.

 

He didn’t bother putting on any clothes and wandered to the kitchen in his boxers. There he found Malik sitting at the kitchen table reading a book which Altaïr instantly recognised as _The Cherry Orchard_ from how worn the book was. Malik always read it when he was under stress and the contents of the book rarely helped to lighten his mood, but it probably wasn’t the point.

 

“Good morning,” he greeted and helped himself to some of the tea Malik had already made. Malik mumbled back a reply.

 

The oven was on which had to be the source of the delicious scent in the air. There were no traces of any baking being taken place anywhere except where the flour streaked Malik’s hair grey.

 

“No morning kiss?” he questioned playfully and leaned on the kitchen counter with the tea on his hand.

 

Malik looked up from the book with a puzzled look. Altaïr grinned as he knew Malik had only now properly registered his presence in the kitchen.

 

He watched carefully as Malik deliberately scanned his body. He still had more than enough muscle to admire even if he didn’t exercise quite as much as he used to.

 

“Only if you check out the bread in the oven,” Malik answered and returned to his book.

 

Altaïr sighed but complied. It wasn’t exactly the outcome he had had in mind. He had hoped either of them would have ended up bent on the kitchen table for some hot morning sex or at least some heavy making out.

 

“It still needs a few more minutes, I think,” he said because he really knew only rudimentary things about baking.

 

Malik motioned him to come over. He leaned down on the same level and was rewarded a quick peck to his forehead.

 

He drank his tea in silence while watching the slow Saturday morning traffic go by in the street. Then he decided he would have his morning wash up and put on some clothes.

 

************************

 

At midday they left to see Malik’s father. The whole twenty minute drive they had was filled with Malik being snappish and easily irritated. Malik wore a slipover two sizes too big and underneath a white collared shirt, looking as if he was going to work instead of seeing his father.

 

Altaïr was fairly sure Malik was on some level afraid of his father even if he would never admit to it. Faheem Al-Sayf had instilled into his son the notion that all the bad things that ever happened to him were God’s punishment and he would end up burning in hell for being an infidel.

 

But after the accident it felt like the man had woken up. Malik’s father still was a complete asshole and he hated him but it was clear that for the first time Faheem had to stop and consider things from another perspective. The fear of losing your only remaining child did wonders to a person.

 

They stopped at the familiar looking house which lay in another suburban neighbourhood very similar to the one where they lived. Only difference was that many of the people living in the street were of immigrant origin unlike their own neighbourhood where the two of them were the odd pair in every sense of the word.

 

Malik flipped open the sun visor and started fussing over the mirror there. In the past Altaïr found it funny when Malik tried to “tone the gay down” but these days it was just very sad that after everything he had been through he deemed it necessary to try and please the impossible expectations of his father.

 

“No physical contact, no innuendo, no – ”

 

“No deliberate annoying of your father, no talk of religion, no breathing, and no moving. I know, I know,” Altaïr continued the rules he had heard countless times before.

 

“I’m being serious, Altaïr,” Malik warned.

 

Altaïr could see how much in the verge of panic Malik actually was as his pupils contracted into very small dots on his dark eyes and the left corner of his mouth was turned down. He had learned the signs ages ago. He was after all very good at reading people which was why he was such an excellent salesman.

 

“I am also being serious. Trust me, I will behave,” he said but he knew in advance he probably wouldn’t be able to resist an urge to poke at the old man just a little bit.

 

Malik seemed to accept his words since he opened the door and got out. Altaïr followed the example and exited the car. He locked the doors and made it to the front door with Malik.

 

Malik knocked on the door because Faheem Al-Sayf didn’t believe in doorbells. The old man came to open the door very quickly after they had knocked on it which made Altaïr believe the man must have been stalking their every move from the window. He was utterly convinced stalking people from the window was all his father-in-law did when he was not running his business.

 

Usually parents would hug their children or show them some other form of affection when they came to visit them but Mr. Al-Sayf just eyed them both in silence before telling them to come in. If the situation had been a nervous one before when they were in the car, it was positively awkward at this point.

 

The inside of the house was a cosy place which contradicted the seriousness of the man living in it. It always smelled of delicious food and freshly brewed tea and this time was no exception to the rule.

 

They were led to the kitchen which was way too big for only one person. But then again the house used to have four people living in it as it was Malik’s childhood home. What was surprising was the food at the table.

 

He glanced at Malik who shrugged and looked just as surprised at him as he was feeling. His father-in-law never treated them to anything which made him question if the food was meant for someone else or if there was some sort of trick behind it.

 

“Sit down and share with me, please,” Malik’s father said and while the politeness coming out of his mouth sounded extremely forced Altaïr couldn’t help but wonder what was going on.

 

They thanked the man and sat at the table. They ate mostly in silence and he occasionally shared looks with Malik who apparently could not explain the sudden hospitality more than he did. The food was delicious though and he wolfed down as much as he dared with the fear of crossing some invisible barrier.

 

After they were done they gave thanks for the meal in a little bit of exaggerated manner because Malik’s father was the kind of person who expected every polite gesture of his being applauded loudly. Altaïr also knew the old man would get offended very easily which reminded him of Malik’s habitual bursts of anger.

 

They were sipping tea in an uncomfortable silence. It was clear at this point that Malik was trying to delay the reason why they had come in the first place. Altaïr couldn’t blame him. He also wouldn’t have been upset if Malik had decided he would rather not ask his father for money as it would spare Altaïr the humiliation.

 

“So how are you two doing?” Malik’s father said after considerable amount of silence.

 

Altaïr chose to remain quiet and leave the talking to Malik. He knew from experience he would end up in an argument with the old man even if he tried remaining polite. At some point their conversation would veer into territory that would just annoy him too much or hurt his pride and he would end up just bringing the verbal hammer down. Unfortunately like his son Faheem Al-Sayf was short-tempered word-ready man and would load up his cannon just as quickly and then the game would be on.

 

“Did you see the news?” Malik asked and his father nodded.

 

“The prime minister told people to eat herrings. Well, after what happened with the interest rates we probably won’t have the money even for that,” Malik said which was a indirect plea for money.

 

Malik’s father seemed to be in thought after the exchange.

 

“One of my cashiers quit last week. It’s not a full time job though,” Malik’s father offered because in the Al-Sayf household everything had to be earned.

 

“You know I can’t take that job,” Malik said with a clear mix of apology and fear in his voice.

 

But Malik was right in his assessment as there was still the very real possibility of him getting a panic attack when something just drove him over the line. It could be anything from loud noises from someone dropping something on the floor to just having too many people around.

 

“I should have been more clear. I need a hand at the back because I’ve got plenty of cashiers,” Malik’s father said which for the second time today surprised them both because it was a lie.

 

Altaïr had been to the supermarket his father-in-law owned and he knew there definitely weren’t too many cashiers or other employers around. But apparently Faheem Al-Sayf was for the first time ever ready to make some exceptions for his son. Even if that said son would eventually burn in hell for being gay and an infidel.

 

“I’ll do it,” Malik said and it wasn’t like they had much of a choice really but it still hurt Altaïr’s pride that his partner was a competent engineer yet he had to accept a job at a supermarket. But there just weren’t any jobs least of all when all the special needs were taken into consideration.

 

“I’ll send you the details later. I’m sure you have somewhere to be,” Malik’s father said but really meant something more among the lines of his tolerance of gays being used up. They got up from the table and thanked him once more for the meal and for the job.

 

On their way out the old man stopped Altaïr before he could get out of the house. A bunch of money was slapped on his hand. Altaïr wanted to throw the money on his in-law’s face but he refrained from doing so. Instead he just gritted his teeth and thanked him. He tried thinking about the empty fridge at home to make the burn of shame sting less.

 

When they got into the car he dropped the money on Malik’s lap.

 

“I hate your father so much. I swear he does these things on purpose,” he complained.

 

“But we did get fed and we even got help to our situation,” Malik countered even if he clearly sounded relieved.

 

“And now we need to be thankful to him for the rest of our lives for this grace,” he grumbled.

 

****************

 

The next day they had proper food on their table since they had gone grocery shopping after visiting Malik’s father. The shopping had been quite the procedure where Malik guarded their shopping like a hawk and Altaïr attempted to avoid any crowded places in the store.

 

Now they were sitting on the couch watching TV or Altaïr watched TV while Malik still read _The Cherry Orchard_. He still avoided all the news because he didn’t want to deal with reality more than he already had to.

 

“Malik?” he questioned in an attempt to get Malik’s attention.

 

“Hmm?” came the half-hearted acknowledgement.

 

“Why did we stop parkouring?” he asked as he had had time to think about all kinds of things of late and this was one thing that came to his mind again and again.

 

Malik snapped his book shut and the action seemed much angrier when done with only one hand.

 

“Because I lost my other arm,” Malik replied and leaned away from Altaïr’s side.

 

“No that’s not the reason. We stopped even before that,” he countered and he could see the gears turning in Malik’s head as he was searching for the answer.

 

“I don’t know,” Malik said in defeat finally after a while spent contemplating for the answer.

 

Altaïr jumped up from the couch and pulled Malik up with himself. They never did anything fun these days. Being adult and owning a house didn’t mean they would also have to sacrifice their lives to endless circles of just surviving.

 

Malik looked utterly confused at him. Altaïr smirked and felt just a little bit mischievous.

 

“Altaïr, what are you planning?” Malik warned.

 

“Come on, put on your trainers. We are going parkouring,” he said and left no room for argument as he dragged Malik to the front door.

 

“But I’ve got only one arm!” Malik protested.

 

“I’ve seen videos of one-armed climbers and I’ll help you out,” he said as he was already putting on his shoes.

 

“Altaïr!” Malik tried.

 

“I’m pretty sure I will leave you into dust even when running on flat surface since you are nothing but skin and bones,” he challenged and scooped up Malik’s trainers.

 

“What?! You are the one to talk, pot-bellied novice,” Malik insulted right back and while Altaïr really didn’t like to be called fat he could see the benefit of getting Malik feel competitive.

 

“You want to bet on that?” he probed with a smirk.

 

“The one who loses bottoms tonight,” Malik shot right back at him.

 

“Challenge accepted,” Altaïr said and if anything the clear promise of sex motivated him more than anything.

 

They made it out of door and started jogging towards the local park in a mutual agreement it would be the best place to start their run. Altaïr enjoyed the feeling of moving his legs instead of the monotonous sitting he seemed to be doing all the time these days.

 

They jumped over the park fence with relative ease and proceeded to take on all kinds of obstacles. As they climbed, jumped, and rolled he could feel the familiar feeling returning to him bit by bit and he could have sworn he saw Malik occasionally smile.

 

He helped Malik over the bigger obstacles where normally one would have used two hands to pull themselves up or getting better hands holds. He could feel the adrenaline running in his veins and for a while he could concentrate on his next path and his partner running with him.

 

In the end when they returned to their home, they were both exhausted but oddly satisfied. Malik had not gotten a panic attack and everything had gone better than expected. They threw their clothes in heaps on the floor and made it to the shower where the last remaining drops of adrenaline were wasted on sex and heavy making out.

 

In the end they ended up cuddling on the couch, feeling content for the first time in ages. Malik felt like a warm comforting presence on his side even long after falling asleep while a nature documentary about crocodiles played on the background.

 

Tomorrow would be Monday which marked the bleak return into work and misery. For now he was just content to hold Malik and wish for a better tomorrow. He would not let them down even if it was the last thing he did.

 


End file.
